No. 17

HOTCHKISS, AND SHUT UP (Poem To Dismantle The Modern Yuppie)

Further from the truth please, madam
MaDamn here is the man, the expulsion from your fleshy tight inner circle impeded
I always ask please do do don’t tell me what to do
You, who wreck titanic havoc wherever you scuttle
Vacuum packed with sneering rebuttals, less juggle and piddle and all over an ’87 second hand Casio keyboard
Dramatize the mundane overture once more
Here layeth a trigger-happy editorial, obese manopausal Christmas hamper of rather tardy abstract spiel
I ram connections together inside my rudimentary lower cavity
Gravy paste dribbles tentatively down my thigh from the advertising campaign
Notification received in massive bolshy increments
Chunder-like, chunderful, chum I chew fat, for who? For the Fat Controller
Quick retract that!
As the rightful copyright prohibits slander based on girth
On that squirming cholesterol clogged self satisfying note I light several gas-filled corpses alight underneath this greasy man mountain
Dash!! Neeenahhhneeenahhhneenahh!! The bloated bastard arrives
Fully clothed as the casualty, morally and physically, physically deformed
Easy tiger!
Stitch him up as he’s cracked open like a giant insanitod Nazi hen that laid ten billion cluster fucks beneath pink eye ointment creamed bags
God forbid he ever gets a secondary wind
His flatulence defender holds hostage to the great pretender pretending he’s an inanimate cel shaded animation replication
Tea bag trendies off the star port bow!
Dinghies all over the shop
Pastel coloured tortoises swim, quite by terminal shock, to the rhythm of up-market green piece of ass saviours
Returns right after these commercials
Finally this video operating device holds on for a blessed, mechanical suicide
Buuuuzzzzzzzzzzz discharge! Buuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzz the wrinkles they form!!
Ow my obo



ANONYMOUS CRIMS

Fork out for the final edition
One for the record
Don’t check the record
It’s running at the wrong speed
Needle scratched away the need to question
And if the same song gets spun
Won’t be long before the thumb presses down on all our backs
You have one new message
Heavy sitting like a lung of diesel
One forty a tank load of heads on the block
Pause until the music stops
Rewrite your message after the beep!!
Ears down to the floors below
Where we planted the apple of his eye like rotten fruit
Silence prevails
Who’s that tapping?
The method is mobile
The printed word is abject denial
Yanked chains flush the bullshit away
Still the stink stays
Literally smeared across the front page
Business as usual tonight
The slander in the docks runs free
Nations watch with torches alight
Pissed off
Primed for the primitive solution, celebrity diluted
Easily led and bottle fed new born bullshit
Cause forgotten victims keep their mouths closed
The way they want it told
Signed with a professional, neat signature
The old hack with his ear to dead children’s mouths


MAFUBA

Grabbed a hand full of despairation,
It trembled and crumbled in to delicate memory,
Unbridled, beautiful dust of no particulars,
Thousands of names of loved ones
Scrawled on wounded wrists,
Virgin flesh hollowed out, beaten to fit,
The signal dies 300 million a second,
Vanishes, we all distain the passing of our own lights
Like shadows against the wall before the firing squad
When this certain conclusion is just reward for hanging on


NEGATIVE FIRST NO FOUR

Judge me from behind
Some clever pretence,
Secrets shaped in profile,
I look on through
The holes I bore though skulls,
Like a telescope to within,
View a life torn from afar,
Distance forms as a wall
Free from strangers,
Real or not so fake,
Lapse in to the tarmacs patterns,
Here forever
To fall sick with shame,
Break my back,
This weight is the price I pay,
Miss Unknown smiles,
In theory this is clean,
When I smile back
There’s a mouth full of dirt